Milk Sisters

Since Friday, I have been working on stopping lactation.
It's not natural to stop my breasts from making milk so abruptly.
With Dahlia, I slowly weaned over several months when she was a year and a half.
It happened naturally as she nursed less and less frequently with time, at her own pace.
No pain, no engorgement, only a little sorrow at this shift in our relationship.

But it's different now, and also surprising how quickly my body has gotten the message that we no longer need to make milk for Tikva.
I am blessed that I've had no problem making more than enough milk the past two months.
I know that producing enough milk can be challenging and sometimes frustrating for moms.
I am in awe that my milk has flowed so abundantly in spite of the fact that it did so with only the help of a breast pump and my own hands to express it.

But really, I'm not surprised: What kept me going was the knowledge that I was doing it for Tikva.
During a time when I could not do so many of the basic things that mothers usually do to care for their babies, I was able to make milk for my girl.
I was able to make milk that she received.
And I was able to keep my body producing milk in the hope that one day she would nurse at my breast.
Always knowing the possibility that she would not, holding that sadness, but continuing to pump milk nonetheless.

Throughout Tikva's last day in this life, my milk kept letting down with each step we took with her in letting go.
The milk she drank that afternoon and evening through her feeding tube was fresh, pumped just that day and given right away without needing to be refrigerated.

As I grieve for Tikva, I grieve also as I stop making milk.
I grieve that I never got to nurse my Baby Girl.
I grieve that so much milk was stored and will not fill her belly.
I grieve for all the times I was not able to comfort her through her challenging journey by simply putting her at my breast.

The other night I woke up suddenly because my breasts were hurting, throbbing to be emptied.
I started crying, and I went to the freezer to get something cold to put against them to ease the pain.
I didn't have any ice packs, so I took one of the bottles of my frozen milk out of the freezer and held it against my breasts.
Tears flowing down my face as I lay in bed, this cold bottle of milk nestled against my chest, comforting.
When I woke up in the morning I poured the warm milk from this bottle into the dahlia plant that is growing in our sunroom.

A few nights ago I sent an email to a list of parents that I have been a part of since Dahlia was born.
In it, I told a little of Tikva's story and shared my blog.
In it, I offered to share my frozen milk with another baby who might need it.
I received some amazing responses, including many people who were impressed that I would want to share my milk so soon after Tikva's passing.
But what else could I do?
It comforts me to know that the milk is going to the bellies of babies who need its nourishment.
It would break my heart for it to go to waste.
While it does hurt a little to let it go, it also feels healing to give it away.

Two little girls will be nourished by Tikva's milk: Halima and Willa.
Halima's mother had a severe hemorrhage during her birth 12 weeks ago that caused her pituitary to fail so that she cannot produce milk.
Willa was born two months ago with congenital emphysema and had to have surgery during her first weeks to remove the top lobe of her left lung.
I was moved by her own journey, especially the connection with the lungs.
I love the idea of sharing our milk with both of these baby girls.

May you be nourished with love and light as you drink this beautiful golden milk, little ones.
Grow and thrive with its nourishment.
In doing so, you are Tikva's milk sisters.


Halima


Willa